Overgrow

by SugarPesticide

To Fear

Twilight eventually realized she was staring into space. Her gaze gravitated toward the procession, but only a deserted street met her wondering eyes. She looked to the north end of the suddenly silent street, swept her attention along its gray length to the south end, and repeated the process a few times as a frown creased her features. The floating lights had vanished, leaving a long tangle of shadows cast by the light at the center skyscraper and the moon … But wait …

She looked up. A dim orb hung in the nearly black sky, obscured by some substance; whether the haze was fog or smoke she could not tell. More immediately concerning was the fact that it was the rising sun, not the setting moon, that was casting its feeble glow across the city. She still had to look away after a few seconds, but that was hardly due to its brightness.

Something tapped her flank. The Snivy stood there, pulling at her hoof in a manner that suggested he was going far out of his way to do so. When she looked down again, she noticed the wall pressing against her chest, and she took a hasty step back as her wings flared. The Snivy darted out of the way, unimpressed with her delayed realization.

“What happened here?” she asked the empty air. She paused, as if expecting an answer, but with a reluctant shrug she turned around and gathered her things. As her saddlebags were slung over her back, she considered a sandwich before taking a bite, then looked over the city again.

The silence of the city draped over the buildings like a cosmic spiderweb. If she strained her hearing, she could hear a distant rustle of cloth or an empty clatter of aluminum in the wake of the stale breeze. The sounds echoed among the lifeless buildings without purpose, dying out gracelessly in a gentle wheeze.

Twilight swallowed the rest of her sandwich. A shiver crawled up her spine at the loneliness of the scene, with not a single breathing being to stand alongside her in the darkness … but she quickly corrected herself as the Snivy slithered over, slipping into the saddlebags as if he had grown up there. “I guess I can’t forget you, can I?” she said with a smile, which only grew when he sniffed and turned up his nose. “You really remind me of somepony, you know?”

With a push of her wings she was in the air, hovering over the surrounding buildings. The lake to the north reflected the weak sunlight, calling her to continue on, continue on … but the light at the center skyscraper still shone, and curiosity trumped duty as she flitted toward it. The Snivy took note of the lack of altitude, poking his nose out to scowl at the delay.

As they approached, Twilight took in the sight of the center skyscraper’s roof. From what she could see, nothing stood on that platform of steel, aside from the light source itself. A few minutes passed as she flew closer, and in that time the light seemed to grow softer, if no less bright; its purpose was to push away the darkness, not weary travelers.

She landed with a slight bump, and the Snivy grumbled at the disturbance. Twilight reached with a wing and patted his head absently as she made her way to the object, taking in every detail with eager eyes. It was a long, curved feather that sparkled different colors when seen from different angles, cycling through the rainbow in a series of careful transitions. Nevertheless, the light it radiated remained a pale yellow that drew the eye and soothed the mind.

“Stop.”

Twilight froze. Her hoof, which had been about to prod the feather, slowly pulled back.

When she looked up, the darkness congealed. Wisps of fog drew across the weak sun as they gathered into a single point that expanded rapidly, filling out into a tall, jagged mass of shadow that hung in the air like a tattered cloak. Limbs sprouted from its sides, drifting aimlessly on the breeze. Sharp outgrowths burst out around its neck like new teeth, the color of blood. A white flame flared to life on its head, dancing silently as the creature floated toward the unmoving. Beneath it a pair of icy eyes opened, and as they settled on Twilight she could have sworn a faint sheen of frost settled on her coat.

But she was more interested in the monster itself than in the weather it attracted. “Rarity …” she managed to say, though her voice was little more than a squeak. “Her eyes — they were that same shade of blue, in the dream. But what …?”

The monster lifted a claw, and words failed her. It was as if such words had been turned to limp, dead, slimy things in her throat, leaving her to swallow in an attempt to rid herself of the unpleasant sensation of stillborn thoughts. When she shivered, it was not merely from the cold.

The creature spoke. “You are a stranger here.”

Its voice seemed to pulse as it spoke, alternating all at once between male and female, high and low, smooth and scratchy, whispering and booming. It was the sort of sound that would have been amusing in any other circumstance, for what is less frightening than a pony trying to mimic the exaggerated warbling of the supposed supernatural? But here, emanating from a mouthless entity, the voice could dance with precision upon each of one’s instincts, urging them to flee as every single sound it made suggested forgotten things lurking in the dark, suggested crying foals stumbling across an otherwise empty continent. It was a voice that could drive heroes to madness and queens to weeping. It was a voice made from the stuff of nightmares.

All later words, however, were abruptly devoid of such a fearsome quality, though the modulation remained. “Would that I were the same.”

Twilight tried to question this desire, but it only emerged as a strained squeak.

The monster descended, and the darkness descended with it. Twilight noted distantly that the sun was now a mere suggestion of a circle, smothered by the haze. The light of the feather did not falter, however, and the monster abruptly halted several feet away; bits of its form fluttered in the face of the soothing glow. If it noticed this, it made no comment.

A strained breath made Twilight’s ear twitch. The Snivy, with visible effort, crawled out and landed gracelessly on the roof with an unpleasant smack. With trembling limbs, he forced himself to stand and fixed upon the monster a glare reminiscent a dust speck challenging the might of a mountain.

“You have a companion.” The monster stated this as immutable fact. “You are fortunate, daughter of magic. Pokémon do not always find it easy to trust what they do not know.”

Something in her mind shifted. A glint of light flashed across her eyes as she found her voice. “S-same thing goes for ponies — and people. But they can still be there for you w-when you least expect it.” Her eyes flitted to the Snivy, and her mouth bent into the ghost of a smile. “Why should P-Pokémon be any different?”

The monster considered this. In the absence of its speech, deathly silence shrouded all, save two arrhythmic sets of shallow breathing. In the chill of the air, the Snivy shuddered.

“I find your answer acceptable,” the monster said at last. It intertwined its arms in an attempt at a calming gesture. “There are matters I wish to discuss with you. For the sake of convenience, you may refer to me as Darkrai.”

Twilight swallowed again. The words came more easily now. “Who are you?”

“I will tell you that, and more. You may wish to be seated; this conversation will not be brief.” Its warped tone suggested no alternative.

She half fell onto the platform of steel. The Snivy remained standing.

“You may have noticed that those in my presence tend to be unnerved,” Darkrai said without a shred of irony. “There is a reason. I am, at my core, a being of nightmares.”

Twilight stiffened. In her mind’s ear, a madmare cackled.

“I understand that nightmares are particularly unpalatable to ponies,” the monster conceded. “I have watched the slumber of your brothers and sisters. Their composure scrambles for purchase if I should so much as think of directing my attention toward them … as you experienced mere hours ago.”

She forced herself to dismiss the long-past memory. “You cause bad dreams … Were you trying to talk to me through my nightmare? Through the dream-Rarity?”

“That is partially correct. I merely touched your dream; if you heard speech in your dream, it had little to do with me. I knew that, after watching your friend die in darkness, you would be drawn toward the light of Lunar Wing. So long as you are shielded by its influence, we may communicate normally.”

“But why go out of your way to get my attention?” She fidgeted under its icy gaze. “Do you know … do you know where I’m going?”

“I have heard rumors. Whispers on the gales of dreamers, stories told and retold. But even with eyes and ears in the minds of all, it is not a simple matter to sift truth from lies. I am not the Avatar of Knowledge.” The white fire flickered. “You will inform me of your purpose.”

There was a pause. Then, in a voice that moved on tiptoes: “Why do you want to me to tell you?”

“Because you do not wish me to take the information directly from your mind. After such an encounter, madness would be a mercy.” It remained unmoved as it watched her jaw tremble. “But even without the protection of the Lunar Wing, you will not suffer that fate. I understand that you are wise among the children of magic.”

The Snivy hissed. A shaking lavender hoof pulled him into the clutches of his owner.

Twilight’s mouth was dry. “You d-didn't answer my question.”

“Then I will be plain. I desire your information because I am curious as to the nature of the catastrophe.”

“... Curious?”

“I did not misspeak.”

“You would do … things to my brain because you’re curious?” Her voice, though wobbling, rose a little.

The monster was unperturbed. “Yes.”

She considered how to respond. No ideas came. So she stared at Darkrai’s calm stance, feeling a wave of disgust at the enormity the situation. “But what would you do with the information?” she managed to ask. Her question was halting, physically restrained.

“Whatever I wish.” The air shook with the sound of a death rattle. “But since you are unreasonably troubled, I will be generous. In addition to not obliterating your mind, I will provide knowledge in return. You will be permitted three questions regarding anything you wish.”

Her brow furrowed. “But you said you weren’t the Avatar of Knowledge.”

“I am not. But you would never forgive yourself if you refused the opportunity to learn any secret in the world. Or even beyond.”

“Fair point.”

She huffed. Then she thought. The inklings of an idea came to mind, but she allowed it no room to betray her. Instead she smoothed her expression into one of careful resignation. The idea was left to simmer, set on the path to slow but steady development.

“You have to promise me,” she said. “Make an … an oath, or something. Any three questions, and you tell only the truth.”

“I do so on the name of the Lunar Wing’s maker,” it vowed. “And that is not a name I take lightly.”

“And you can’t … I don’t know, use what I tell you to hurt ponies somehow.”

“I have no intention of causing your species harm.” Darkrai’s eyes glittered. “Tell your story.”

Twilight glanced at the Snivy. The Snivy glanced back, and there was curiosity buried under the bravado.

The sun crawled slowly across the inky sky as she took a deep breath, thought back to unpleasant memories, and began to tell her tale.

Comments

[thefluffyone]

Well, damn. Darkrai is a badass.
When you first described the wing, I thought it was one from Ho-Oh.

[MythAndShadow]

PLZ PLZ PLZ CONTINUE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Orange Pudding]

Oh my. Now we shall know the tale behind this mystery.

TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME!